The venerable Greek stood erect, yet trembled with rage, as he replied:
"Maccabæus, never before has man questioned the truthfulness of either Agathocles or his son without biting the dust. Give me my sword, and let the gods decide betwixt us."
"Your pardon," instantly replied Judas. "God forbid that I should wrong one in bonds!"
The Greek as quickly rejoined, and with equal courtesy:
"Your pardon, Maccabæus! I forget that I am your prisoner, and that the question is right. Let me speak further. There has been no treason to either Jew or Greek. I was fairly taken in fight. Dion's sword, wielded in your service, conquered mine. This wound"—pointing to the bruise upon his forehead—"is the witness. But one sword, Maccabæus, could have accomplished this—not your own, though so famed for its skill and weight. Only the arm that Agathocles has trained could get the better of Agathocles himself—if it be not bombast for an old man to say such things. I was first my own Dion's captive before I became yours. Treat me as any other whom your men have taken. War asks no mercy. Do with me as you will. And for Dion, I ask only your justice, Maccabæan."
"Both shall have justice," replied Judas. "But what is justice? God is just, and we—we are only men."
He sat down again upon the broken statue of Hermes, and with his sword-point drew lines upon the ground.
"In one of his moods again," whispered Simon.
But the spell was quickly off. He stood up. His sword trembled in his hand from the nervous tension with which he grasped it.
"General Agathocles, you are my prisoner. I must maintain discipline."